


Peace

by TheDistantDusk



Series: Canon Hinny one-shots (all ratings, no order) [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDistantDusk/pseuds/TheDistantDusk
Summary: They haven’t had another chance to do this since The First Time. Which is rubbish.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Series: Canon Hinny one-shots (all ratings, no order) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064753
Comments: 44
Kudos: 246





	Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isidar_Mithrim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isidar_Mithrim/gifts).



> This goes out to Isidar and her detailed reviews! As an aside, she's also a very sneaky Death Eater during Harry Potter werewolf games ;) Thanks to Flo, my beta/life coach, for finding the gaps I always miss! <3

They haven’t had another chance to do this since that time. The First Time. Which is rubbish.

Because as it turns out, rebuilding an entire society is a lot of work. And as it turns out, Harry’s expected to help. The past week has been a blur of trials and sentencing, of long meetings and paperwork, of hurrying up for more waiting. He’s had to make decisions. _Hard_ decisions. Decisions he’s nowhere near qualified to make, decisions he wishes literally anyone else could make instead, because for fuck’s sake, he feels middle-aged but he’s only 17, and—

 _Knock knock knock_.

Oh.

So that’s how long he’s been sitting there. Eleven minutes. Eleven minutes of thinking about all that — his head in his hands, his knee jiggling impatiently, his mind filled with what he _could’ve_ said, _should’ve_ said. Because eleven minutes is exactly how long they’ve agreed to wait between Ron leaving and Ginny showing up. (Privately, Harry and Ginny both feel the whole room-switching charade is a colossal waste of time. Molly and Arthur almost certainly know they’re doing it, which defeats the purpose. But it makes Hermione feel better about shagging Ron under Molly’s roof, so Harry and Ginny participate. Albeit snidely).

Regardless, though, he barely has time to issue a muffled “hello” before she’s tumbling into his arms and pressing her body against his and filling his nose with the flowers from her hair and—

“I — want — to — try — something,” Ginny manages, peppering his neck with kisses.

“Erm… y-yeah?” Harry stammers, not sure if he should be more turned on or confused. He doesn’t care when Ginny doesn’t explain herself, though. Who needs answers, really? They’re secondary to the way she’s brushing her shorts against the erection that wasn’t there five seconds ago.

Harry just moans and grips her more tightly as they stumble back towards his bed. She gives a little nip at his jaw and her tongue darts out to caress his lips, aaaand _bollocks_ , his glasses have fogged. Harry lets out a frustrated sigh, but doesn’t pull away from the snog-slash-walk, even though he’s doing both a bit blindly. It’s a painful reminder that they haven’t sorted out the balance yet, haven’t quite found a rhythm. At Hogwarts she used to take his glasses _off_ during this (before they remembered there was a charm), but shagging when you don’t have 20/20 vision presents challenges. Especially when you’d quite like to see what’s happening.

Stil, Harry doesn’t dare object… not when she’s making that lovely high-pitched purr. Not when he can feel her nipples through her shirt. Not when her arse is in his palms. Not when she’s sliding her tight little body against him, the friction shooting straight to his cock as she moans and rolls her hips.

He’s so distracted he hardly notices they’ve reached her goal.

“Bed,” she declares with a hard shove.

Harry lets out a startled groan as the backs of his knees hit the mattress. She’s still on him, attached to his front; her weight’s distributed across his knees and crotch, which isn’t the most comfortable position. He grabs her arse to shift them back, and without conscious thought, his body takes control. He automatically rolls her beneath him as he’s done a thousand times, and with that, they’re snogging — _properly_ snogging, with lips and tongues and real touching, just like he’s wanted to all week. She moans into his mouth as his hand creeps beneath her baggy t-shirt, and then he darts down to her neck to nibble and bite.

She loves it when he does this. She’s told him as much, over and over, which is why he loves snogging her like this. Do you still call it snogging when you’re in a bed and you’re about to start shagging? Harry doesn’t know, but his ability to reason either way is diminishing by the second. He begins drifting down her chest, and now she’s doing that thing where she arches her back and rubs her thighs together. _All_ he fucking wants is to stick his head between them as she screams his name and rips at his hair and—

“Wait,” Ginny pants, pushing on his chest. “ _Wait_ , Harry.”

Shit.

Harry freezes, his hand still cupping her left breast.

The gravity of the request isn’t lost on him.

She’s literally never stopped him before. _Ever_. The closest they’ve even come to facing this… dilemma… was soon after they’d started dating during those glorious weeks at Hogwarts. Things had gotten so hot, so quickly that Harry was legitimately worried he was taking advantage. So one day during a particularly intense snog, he’d employed his last shards of brain power to rip himself away and slur, “ _Please_ promise you’ll stop me, Ginny.”

Ginny’d just blinked back at him in a few panting, desperate second before she’d gripped his hand and shoved it against her chest. Then, in a shaking voice, she’d firmly reminded him that she wasn’t the sort of girl who fancied ambiguity. Or permission. Which was, of course, why he fancied _her_.

But now things are a bit different, aren’t they?

Harry draws a deep breath and rips himself from the memory, growing more mortified by the second. Ginny’s breathless, which is normally a good sign — but she’s also biting her lip, even as a flush crawls further up her chest. Her eyes are filled with something tentative, something uncertain.

Harry stammers an apology and pulls back as fast as he can. He doesn’t know why she’s asked him to stop, but that hardly matters; his head spins with where he’s gone wrong, with all the shit he’s had to do this week, with all the problems weighing on his heart, and he’s so certain that—

“Harry,” Ginny blurts. “Where the hell are you going?”

Wait, what?

Harry pauses, his leg half-raised to step off the bed, and peers over at her. Ginny’s propped up her elbows and giving him a quizzical look. He tries very hard not to focus on the hair tumbling over her shoulders and not the creamy patch of exposed skin just below her navel.

He clears his throat and otps to stare at the wall instead. “I… erm. If you want to stop, I—”

“— _WHAT_?”

For some reason, she sounds furious — not disturbed or uncomfortable.

She narrows her eyes. “Harry,” she says slowly, in the tone she usually reserves for defending him in public. “Did you _seriously_ think—”

But all at once, it’s too much. It’s too, too much. A week of frustration and exhaustion boils over, snapping like a band in his chest. His face hurts from fake-grinning, his heart aches from what he can’t do, his mind reels with what-ifs.

So Harry just throws himself back on the bed with a groan. He’s not quite sure which way is up.

“Well, _I_ don’t know!” he mutters, rubbing his hands over his eyes, beneath his glasses. His voice is nearly pleading. “You just told me to wait, and it’s been a shit week, and I’ve hardly seen you.”

A moment later, he removes his hands from his eyes. He blinks a few times as the room appears, but it’s not until black fades to starry pinpricks of light that Ginny appears overhead. She shoots him a wink, her hair draping like a curtain around his face, and Harry reckons he’s a bit thick; during his griping she must’ve removed her shirt.

He lets the confusion melt away as his eyes travel over her perfect breasts. He doesn’t know how he’s made it thus far without a good look at them from this angle. Lord knows he’s thought about it. They’re the exact size of his palms... so round and perfect. And pebbled, just in the center, with a gorgeous interplay of lighter and darker pink.

“Harry,” Ginny says softly. His eyes snap back to hers. “I’m sorry you thought it,” she clarifies with a gentle smile, “but I definitely wasn’t trying to outright stop you. I just… erm.” She bites her lip. “I wanted to try something new, but I knew that if you… kept going… I’d get distracted and forget, and we’d have to wait another night. And I don’t want to. So.”

 _Oh_.

“I… distract you, then?” Harry’s lips twitch. He can’t help the male pride from roaring in his chest. He knows he’s good at it — at _that_. Even if she hadn’t told him a million times, he feels it in the way she clenches and releases against his mouth and fingers. He hears it in the way she cries his name in a hoarse growl.

Since May, he likes to think he’s gotten amazing at it, really, no matter how she wants it. But seeing as they’ve only shagged once (and how the first time was spent trying and failing to last longer than 10 seconds), he hasn’t made her come during sex. Yet.

“Harry,” she says flatly, “You _know_ that you’re… embarrassingly good at that. You’ve always been.”

Harry smiles and moves to caress her thigh. He loves it when she reminds him. He loves it when he’s useful — skilled, even. Especially when it comes to making her happy.

As if sensing this, a mischievous grin darts across Ginny’s face. “You may want to update your CV, actually,” she says, eyes twinkling. “I didn’t see oral skills on there, last I checked. Not that I want you sharing them.”

Harry snorts. “Shows what you know. I put that on first thing. May, 1998: Voldemort. June 1998: The second time I caught the snitch with my mouth.”

For a half-second, she just stares at him, her jaw hanging open — but then they both burst into laughter.

Ginny trails off with a groan, her mouth still stretched in a smile. “Fuck, that’s exactly what I mean! I don’t know how you can be so unsure of yourself while also being so bloody cocky. I mean, for fuck’s sake!” She raises her eyebrows and makes a vague gesture. “It’s the fucking English Channel in my knickers right now! It pretty much always is.”

Ginny gives a dignified sniff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Which I _reckon_ you know.”

“Liar,” he murmurs, his fingertips trailing up her arm. “We both know you don’t wear knickers to bed.”

“Fine then,” Ginny concedes, waving her hand. “It’s the fucking English Channel in my _shorts_ right now. Happy?”

Harry considers this. “I can think of something that would make me happier,” he admits, but then realizes what he’s said.

There’s a pause. Harry clears his throat — and realizes she very much has a point with him not knowing if he’s confident or not. Oh well. He’d might as well be consistent. “But I’m… erm. Whatever you want is fine, Ginny,” he says quickly. “And you don’t owe me anything, and you can try whatever you want, and I’m _so_ sorry if—”

Ginny heaves a sigh that ruffles the hair around her face. “It’s just that you’ve been so stressed with all this Ministry bullshit,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I thought if I just took the pressure off for one night it would keep _you_ from having to worry about making _me_ happy all the bloody time and we could both just focus on…”

There’s a beat. Ginny worries her lip between her teeth.

“F-focus on what?” Harry asks faintly. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

Then Ginny looks him dead in the face. Her cheeks are still tinged pink, but her eyes ring with determination. “I want to be on top,” she says flatly. Then, on an exhale: “And I want to touch myself when I do it.”

_Fuuuuck._

Harry feels his mouth go dry. “I… erm… “ he manages, gripping at the duvet. “I’m… yeah! _Yeah_ , Ginny, whatever you…” He clears his throat and throws his hands in front of him. “Glease!”

There’s another beat.

Ginny’s lip twitches agan. “ _Glease_?”

“Erm. It was supposed to be both _go on_ and _please_ ,” he explains, unnecessarily. “But erm. I… I got distracteddd— fuck!” His voice breaks at the end as her hand drifts below the waistband of his comically tented shorts.

Ginny ignores this. “Now,” she chides, taking him in her fist. “If it’s ok with you, you’re going to let me take care of you for once. Ok?”

Harry makes a strangled groan as she picks up speed. “Y-yeah!” he stammers on a half-chuckle. “I’m… _fuuuuck_.”

She’s good at this, even if she insists there isn’t much to it. All Harry knows is that her hands feel loads better than his. All he knows is that he loves it when she touches him — _any_ part of him, but especially this one.

It’s still hard for him to watch her with his cock without exploding on the spot. So he opts not to. Instead, he focuses on the gentle sway of her breasts as her arm pumps up and down, on the adorable, sexy determination that’s etched on her face. He’s so damned transfixed with it — with absolutely all of it — he doesn’t notice she’s removing his shorts until the fabric slides down his bum. Then, with a soothing murmur, she guides his cock out. He hisses as it hits the cool air, but Ginny doesn’t stop; she eases his shorts down his legs, one hand still working the gathered moisture down his shaft.

He’s about to open his mouth for a moronic, half-formed joke about women and multitasking — but _blessedly_ , she saves him from that. With a final wink, Ginny releases his cock and tugs her shorts down, too. Harry’s not a Ravenclaw, but he can take a bloody hint when he sees one. He scrambles to tug his shirt over his head, his arms shaking in his haste. It’s only when the collar catches on his glasses that he even remembers he’s wearing them — and ah, bugger, that’s lovely, because now he’s blind, _and_ his arm is caught!

Ginny giggles through his frustrated groan, but in an instant, her fingers are in his hair, her voice a soft whisper. She takes his shirt off the rest of the way, unhooking the collar from his neck. Before he has the chance to say anything else, she rests his glasses on Ron’s bedside table. Which presents an obvious challenge.

“I can’t. Erm. I can’t… watch?” he protests, even as she pushes against his chest to settle him firmly on his back. In truth, even Harry’s not sure that watching is a good idea — but he’d hate himself if he didn’t ask. He’s fantasized about this exact scenario too many times. Countless wanks have been devoted to the vision of her using his cock, rocking above him, bringing herself off.

Ginny pauses with her knees on either side of his waist. From this distance, she’s mostly a blur of red and white. “Are you… sure?” He can almost see the blob of her head tilting to the side, curious.

“No,” he admits quickly.

She giggles again, but he plows on.

“Right, so… this will be over fast. Very fast. Which is why I wanted to make you happy _first_ , because—”

He stops as she slides his glasses onto his nose. The world comes back into focus, but Ginny — in her naked glory — doesn’t look pleased. She’s glaring at him, crossing her arms over her bare chest.

“For starters, Harry,” she says firmly, “you _always_ make me happy.” He makes a noise of protest, but she cuts him off with a pointed stare.

 _Fuck_. Harry squirms. He’s a fucking mess, isn’t it? Now it’s turning him on that she’s bossing him around…

“Secondly,” Ginny continues, eyebrows raised, “I think you’ve forgotten that you’re not the only person in the room who’s getting a bit desperate. I can _guarantee_ that I won’t last much longer than you, which is why I proposed this in the first place. I only asked about your glasses because I wasn’t sure if they’d fog or not and be a bigger bother. Ok?”

Harry manages a weak nod, but it’s clear Ginny’s tired of waiting. Which suits him just fine.

“Right then,” she says, that fascinating blush crawling up her chest again. “ _Right_.”

Harry doesn’t have a moment to question that before she’s settling her knees on either side of his waist. Then she shifts just a bit, draws a deep breath, and does the sexiest fucking thing he’s ever seen. She reaches two fingers inside herself, slides them forward, and stares right at him as she rubs quick, tight circles.

Harry swallows, gripping her thighs; even from here, he can tell she’s wet. _So_ fucking wet. Not that he’d mention it, of course, even if he could. Most of his brain power is spent simply watching as the red triangle at the apex of her thighs draws closer and closer to his cock. Then, with a final shudder, she bites her lip and lowers herself down — and fuuuucking hell, he almost, _almost_ comes. Harry slams his eyes shut, biting the inside of his cheek, but Ginny doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop sliding, doesn’t stop whimpering. With willpower he didn’t know he had, Harry pulls himself back from the edge, just as he feels her bum rest on his thighs, her fingers continuing to dance.

When he finally opens his eyes to look at her, he doesn’t know how he holds on for another ten seconds. Somehow he does, though, which is perhaps his most prolific accomplishment to date... because she’s absolutely _beautiful_. More gorgeous and stunning than she’s ever been. Her back is arched, her chest red and heaving, her eyes heavy-lidded; she’s almost mewling as she adjusts, as she shifts her weight against her fingers.

“Fuck, Harry,” she whispers, her eyes never leaving his. “ _Fuck_. It’s so different… it’s… _oh_!” Then she draws a shuddering breath, her eyes rolling back, and Harry watches as instinct takes over. He watches as she follows her body just to the edge; she swirls her hips, lifting and lowering herself, as the fleeting pain of their first time disappears forever.

“Ginny,” he manages, his voice strangled. He wraps his palms around her waist and clings to the last vestiges of reality. “ _Please_. I can’t—”

Then her expression goes blank, her lips part, and with a final, breathy squeak, she sets him over the brink.. “ _Iloveyou_ ,” she manages in a rushed whisper. “ _Fuck_ , Harry, I’m—”

But as she cuts off, as her voice trails into a moan, Harry feels like he’s leaving his body. Even if he couldn’t actually feel her coming around him, her words would’ve done it. He can, though… he _absolutely_ fucking can. He can feel her milking him and gripping him as she cries out in ecstasy, and following her over the edge is no longer an option, but a command. His release crests over him like a tidal wave, ripping through his body on a strangled roar. It’s so fast, so blinding, that he can’t even feel himself pulsing inside her. He knows he must be doing that, though, because his entire lower body vibrates in a delirious staccato, his back arching off the bed as she surrounds him, engulfs him, soothes him. Her hips continue their gentle rocking as he ebbs and flows and clenches and releases, as those pinpricks of light return behind his eyes, stealing his breath, reducing his voice to babbled variants of her name.

He’s not sure how long it takes to catch his breath. He’s also not sure when she lifts away, or if she casts charms to clean up. All he knows is that at some point, he smells flowers. Her head nestles beneath his chin, her body pressing against him, her breath coming in deep, slow sighs.

And Harry wants to laugh, really. Or cry. Because he doesn’t think she’ll ever know what she’s done for him. How she’s removed the pressure and stress, if only for a night. How she’s taken things into her own hands — literally and figuratively. How she’s given him the one thing he thought he’d never have: Peace.

“Hey,” she whispers, trailing her fingers along his chest. He’s surprised the skin there is tender. It feels numb, along with the rest of him.

He grabs her hand in his and kisses her knuckles. His eyes grow heavy as he peers down at her, as he watches how perfectly she fits against him. She props her head against his chest, blinking at him in the flickering candlelight.

“I love you,” he reminds her, his voice raw and graveled. A flicker of a smile crosses her face. It always does, when he says that.

“Thanks,” he adds, kissing her knuckles. “For… for everything? Can I thank you for everything?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Nah. I reckon we both needed a night off. You especially. See how easy it is when _I_ make all the decisions?”

Harry laughs and threads his fingers through her hair. “We’ll see about that. Maybe by the end of summer, I’ll be able to put _proper sex_ on my CV.”

Then Ginny pulls back from her chest, her eyes twinkling. And even before she opens her mouth, he knows what it’s in for. “I’ll hold you to that, then,” she says, smirking. “ _Glease_.”


End file.
